Cold Moon
by I HEART JATAE
Summary: Pietro's thoughts after some time... er, spent with Lance. Not a happy fic. Rated for language and a bit of naughty stuff.


A/N: I'm not really sure if I like this fic or not... there's not much plot to it, methinks. Ah well, at least it's not just porn. Not that porn is bad, mind you, but I'm terrible at writing it. I tried writing it, once... *shudders* Anywho, no one belongs to me because I don't believe in slavery. I do, however, believe in harems, and am the proud wife of six people, two of which are straight women!! ^__^ Ow. My neck hurts. Grrrr.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I pretended to be asleep.  
  
And lemme tell ya, for a speed demon, that's not easy. 'Specially not for an hour straight.  
  
I knew he was there. Every night for almost a week, he'd been coming into my room around three, and he'd just just sit there in the dark, in the broken wooden rocking chair in the corner, for a full hour. I don't know what he was doing or thinking, and sometimes I'm not sure I'd wanna know. Maybe he was watching me, or wanted to talk to me but didn't want to wake me up. I still haven't figured it out.  
  
Then, last night, when his hour was up, I could hear the chair creaking as he stood up, and heard his bare feet on the floor. But he didn't leave. I could tell he was standing next to my bed, could feel the heat radiating from his abdomen into my back. A rough hand reached down to brush some hair away from my face. It made its way over my neck, to my shoulder, down my side, pushed the sheets out of the way, and stopped at my hip. He held it there.  
  
By that time, I was sure he knew I was awake anyway, so I finally said something.  
  
"What are you doing, Lance?"  
  
"Nothing." His voice was low and hoarse. But he didn't seem embarassed or nervous. He didn't even take his hand away. It went to the front of my thigh and moved, excrutiatingly slowly, up inside my boxers.  
  
I was nervous as hell, but there was no way I was going to stop him.  
  
Lance knows I'm gay. He was one of the first people in this town to accuse me of it. I denied it at first, afraid he'd shun me or laugh at me. Then one morning, he was sitting alone at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee and reading the paper. And I stood across from him and said it, came out of the closet. I made a huge breakthrough in my life with just two words. "I'm gay." And I really, truly expected him to spit out his coffee, or choke on it or something, but he didn't. He just took another sip, turned another page, and said "Told you so."  
  
And there I was, lying on my side in my bed, breathing hard with my eyes closed and Lance's left hand on my crotch. He rolled me onto my back and climbed on top of me, and then he was grinding against me, slowly, and I heard him groan. I pulled off his shirt, and my hands roamed over his chest and back. And, for one of the first times in my life, I had no idea what I was doing. I was in such a daze, and everything was moving fast but still in slow-motion. I realized, at one point, that we had both lost all our clothes (not that we had much on to begin with) and I was jacking him off. And he was, apparently, liking it. A lot.  
  
If you haven't figured out by now where things went from there, well... they went about as far as they can go.  
  
We didn't sleep together. We had sex, good sex at that, but when he was finished, he pulled his tee-and-boxers back on and left. Just like that. So I spent the night alone, and ended up crying myself to sleep.  
  
I'd just lost my virginity to him, and he didn't even care enough to stay with me for a few hours. How fucked up is that?  
  
I don't know, maybe he didn't know that I'd never done it with anyone. And I suppose I should have known he didn't care about me THAT way. Lance is straight, I've always known that. But he's also human, and male, and he certainly wasn't going to get any help from Kitty in that department. Desperate times call for desperate measures, which happened to be, in this case, fucking the resident queer.  
  
As I lay there alone, staring out the window at the full moon, I found it incredibly strange that, throughout the whole ordeal, he never kissed me. Not once. But now that I look back on it, it's not that strange, given the situation. Kissing is a conveyance of a very specific emotion. And emotion which Lance, obviously, wasn't feeling towards me. Kissing is an expression of caring and love, or at least the potential for it. Sex, for the most part, isn't.  
  
And as I sit here, chewing on my breakfast, I wonder if it could be considered rape. True, I was perfectly willing, but only because I thought that he'd felt something for me. And I can't stop thinking that, if I had resisted, whether he would have done it anyway.  
  
I hear footsteps and there he is, coming down the stairs making his way into the kitchen. "Mornin'." Like nothing happened. I'm not sure what else I expected him to do, but it certainly wasn't pretend like we didn't fuck last night.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"What was what?"  
  
"What happened last night-- why'd you do it?" He sighs and turns around, looking me directly in the eyes.  
  
"Pietro, I'm not sure of the easiest way to put this, so I'm just gonna say it, okay?"  
  
I nod.  
  
"Okay. What happened last night was sex, pure and simple. I have no intentions of pursuing any kind of relationship with you besides that of which we've been carrying on since we met. And yes, I know I'm an asshole and I shouldn't have done it, so save your breath." He looked tired, then. Like maybe he'd gotten a slap in the face for this kind of thing a few too many times.  
  
I nod again, and turn back to my bowl of Froot Loops. The colors are suddenly obnoxiously bright and cheerful. Then I can feel him again, pressed up against my back, and his tongue finds my ear.  
  
"On the other hand," he murmurs, "If you wanna try it again, I certainly won't object..."  
  
And his hand is right THERE, and all the good parts of the night before come rushing back, smothering me in emotion and passion and a need for more. But with all that comes memories of sleeping alone, crying for hours on end, and the sight of the cold moon staring down at me.  
  
I pull his hand away.  
  
"I don't think so, Lance." I'm almost whispering. "Not if it's as meaningless as it feels now." I stand up and take my bowl to the sink. "Not if you don't feel anything for me." On my way to the stairs, I hear his voice floating after me, but I don't stop walking.  
  
"Who knows? Maybe one day, I will."  
  
* * * * *  
  
A/N: I'm not quite sure what to make of that ending... *_* Oh, well. Now review! Review like the wild tapirs you are!! 


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